


Wonderful World

by Lafrenze



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafrenze/pseuds/Lafrenze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because no matter what happened, if you could face it together, how could it be anything but?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chipped Tiles and Drywall Mud

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't be starting a new project. I keep putting off the other two I have, but I can't stop writing for Bucky. Cannot stop. I'm not sure I really want to, so I decided that hey, if I'm going to be writing like mad anyway, I might as well post it up and let other people enjoy the Winter Soldier fun-fest.
> 
> I don't anticipate that many of these are going to be connected in any way, I'm pretty vague with my Reader-Character(s) in the first place so it's mostly up to you, but if there are any specific links I'll make sure to point them out in the chapter notes. Also, expect tons of teeth-rottingly sweet fluff. Tons. I mean, there's going to be some depressing ones (have you seen the things he's gone though?), but all I want in life is so very much happy Bucky, him being domestic and doing home-y things, and just so, so many good things happening, all the time. So that's what I'm going to write the most of. Be the fluff you want to see in the world.

Aimlessly you wandered through your apartment, walking from one end to the other. It was something of a habit of yours, had been for years, that when you sat too long at your computer you'd find yourself getting restless and unable to concentrate on whatever you were doing. So you'd simply get up and walk around your home until you spent enough energy to return to your work. You supposed that some people might think it was a weird habit to have, and Bucky certainly was one of those. The first time he caught you in one of your moods he was sure that you were hiding something from him, that something was wrong and you were refusing to tell him. Eventually, you convinced him that no, nothing was wrong and it's just something that you did to clear your mind. It took him seeing you do it a few more times before he stopped getting that concerned look on his face, and to his credit, it was a couple more times after that before he started finding other, more mutually inclusive, ways of channeling that energy, to both of your enjoyment.

_I could use that, right about now, actually,_ you thought with a quiet sigh. He had been gone for a few weeks, something had come up and he was needed at the Tower with the rest of the Avengers, and would likely be gone at least one more week. You still talked with each other, between the texts that you would shoot back and forth and the coveted Skype calls that you would get to make on the rare occasions that he managed to get back to his room while you were still awake and neither of you was tired enough to fall asleep at the computer, something you both had done once. But it wasn't the same as Bucky actually being _home_ with you. He mentioned once, a while ago, that Tony said something about trying to alleviate these busy seasons, but that was the last you heard of that. If he managed to actually do that, maybe you'd finally get to take Bucky on a proper vacation for once. You brought it up from time to time, finding a way for both of you to take some time off from your respective jobs and go on a road trip. Being a superhero wasn't exactly the kind of job he could just call out from, however, so it remained a wishful thought for now.

Wanting to derail that thought process, you turned your focus onto your walls, simply because they were there. A thought about washing them came to you, _That's a thing responsible adults do, right?_ , not that you ever had. Well, except the time you needed to patch a hole in the wall, one you could see now that you were in your living room. The patch was still obvious, you still had to sand and paint it so that it matched the rest of the wall, but thinking about how it had gotten there made you smile. The last time Bucky was gone for some time, he had thought it would be funny to send you some suggestive texts, and others not so much suggesting as outright stating, while he was on his way home. So you ended up jumping him at the door, fully intent on seeing how many of those messages you could make good on, but when he pushed you against the wall, his left hand went right through the drywall. Even though it was your security deposit on the line, you had laughed quite a bit at the whole thing. You count it as the best mood-killer you have ever endured.

Actually, once you thought about it, your whole apartment was full of small nicks and scratches and scuff marks, courtesy of the same arm and each with their own story. You learned early on in your relationship with Bucky that most things weren't exactly built to withstand an arm like his. There was a crack in one of your nightstands, earned during his first, and worst, nightmare-induced panic attack that he had while sleeping over. You had thankfully managed to avoid getting hurt during that one, though you had long since forgotten how you did it. In your shower there were numerous chips in the tiles, but to your relief you hadn't needed to replace any of them. More than one of your pots and pans had their handles meet their maker during Bucky's many attempts to learn to cook anything more complicated than cereal. Your personal favorite was a poorly-mended tear in one of your couch cushions, a souvenir from a particularly energetic movie marathon.

All at once you found yourself feeling much better, still standing in your living room looking at the same patch in the wall. All the restless energy from earlier was gone, and you felt quite refreshed and invigorated. You made your way back to your room and your computer with a spring in your step, ready to continue your work, and just maybe see if you could keep yourself awake enough to give your special soldier a call tonight. Yeah, that sounded nice.


	2. Paper Perils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be honest, the image of Bucky delicately folding all kinds of pretty origami cranes was one I kind of fell in love with. It's so adorable~~

Of all the things you might have, at any point, considered that you would be teaching to your assassin-turned-superhero boyfriend, origami wasn't even in the top fifty. Maybe not even the top hundred, but it's not like you had a list made up in the first place to check. But, one day he caught you folding tiny cranes, stars, and frogs under your desk during a staff meeting, while pretending to pay attention. After the meeting he asked you to show him what you made, and he had been so impressed that he asked you to teach him how to make them. You promised that when you got home, you'd show him how to make anything he wanted. 

Once you got back that afternoon you made good on your promise after taking a quick shower, pulling out a small box of brightly colored paper from your closet and sitting down at the dining table with him. Unfortunately, the lesson wasn't going well at all.

“I can't get it to fold over like yours!” You jumped, startled by Bucky's frustrated outburst, but you managed to react in time to keep him from crumpling up his half-folded square of paper.

“Let me see it,” you asked quietly. He handed it to you roughly, and you opened it up to see why it wasn't collapsing properly. At first glance you saw the reason, that one of the folds was backwards, keeping it from folding in. “Ah, here we go. See this fold, right here? You made a mountain fold, instead of a valley, so the paper wants to collapse out because of it. It's an easy fix, just take it like _this_ and fold it inward. The paper's sturdy enough that it won't hurt the finished piece.”

You gave it back to him gently. He reversed the fold as you told him, and walked himself back through the steps to get back to where you had left off. Almost done.

“See! There you go. Now take one of the ends here and fold it back and forth like so, then collapse it in. That's the head of the crane, and the other side is the tail. Relax Buck, we're almost done. Fold these two flaps over, and see these right here? They're the wings, so pull them out gently, like that, yeah. Now carefully flatten the middle bit with your thumb. Ta-da! You've just folded a crane!” You placed your finished crane next to his. He looked up at you with a small smile, which you returned with a grin.

“I think I'll leave this to you, all things considered,” he said.

“Aw, don't give up so easily. I was going to show you how to make those neat hopping frogs next.” You gave him your best puppy-eyed pout and he laughed playfully.

“Alright, alright, I give. Show me how to make paper frogs.”


	3. Just This Human Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing an entirely different chapter, and during one of my breaks this came to me instead and didn't fight me. So instead of a sad chapter you get this candy-sweet one.

You did not, as a general rule, believe that 'true love' was an actual thing. Love was a profound emotion with infinite layers and complexities, and was an important thing to cultivate in as great of quantities as possible. But the idea that there was a type of romantic love so instantaneous and perfect that it somehow _transcended_ all others seemed kind of silly to you. Love needed care and maintenance; it was something to work for and grow, with combined effort and attention. It was like a plant, in a way. The seed could show up on it's own, blown in by the wind or dropped by a metaphorical bird, but it required watching over, required nurturing. That shouldn't make it any less _true_ , or any less valuable, in your opinion. True love was a thing for stories and movies, where princes rescued maidens and routinely slayed dragons.

But, if all that was still true, then what exactly was the unfamiliar warmth you felt bubbling over in your heart?

It was game night at your apartment, a weekly event with Bucky you started as a way to unwind and relax. Not quite a date night, just a nice way to spend time together and have fun without needing to worry about dressing up or going anywhere. He brought over take out, whatever the two of you decided on earlier in the day, and you dug out all your board and video games. Tonight he had first pick, and his choice had been Mario Party 9, and only half an hour in, you got wrecked by the worst string of luck you ever suffered on one of these nights. Ever. At the sight of your spectacular misfortune Bucky did what any other warm-blooded human who was capable of feeling emotion would do, which was to collapse with laughter at your virtual plight. 

You turned to tell him _“Laugh while you can,”_ and whatever other friendly trash-talk you could come up with on the spot, you found it useless to stockpile taunts which meant you relied on improvisation, but when you saw just how wonderfully _happy_ he looked, you had been struck dumb. He looked as if not a single bad thing ever happened to him in all his life, as if this level of joy was his natural state of being. 

Something happened to you in that instant. You couldn't think. You couldn't _breathe_. Your heart and mind began to race each other and it was so stupid. It was just your boyfriend laughing. That wasn't a thing that should be able to turn all your words into metaphors of radiant sapphires and sunshine through leaves and angels' song and rose gardens and ethereal warmth and the light of heaven itself. But it did. It did, and all you could do was sit there, stuck in time while you fell head first into a pool of poetry as Cupid himself shot an arrow right between your ribs and landed a perfect bulls-eye on your heart. In that moment you would swear, silently and to yourself, that even that all the happiness from the last few months of dating Bucky seemed to be nothing more than ashes compared to this.

The words flew from the cage of your mouth before you could even consider their weight.

“I love you so much.”

It was too soon for that word. You weren't ready. Surely he couldn't be ready. There was so much else you never said, never even prepared to discuss, that should have gone before such a sweeping statement. Talk of comfort and boundaries and not rushing expectations and aligning of values. So many things, a foundation not yet laid for a future you couldn't map out like you did for everything else in your fragile, easily-shaken life. Too soon. Far too soon.

Despite this, you were unafraid. Unafraid, even when he dropped his controller on the floor and looked at you as if you had fired a gun at him, because before the smallest doubt could begin to form in your heart, he smiled that smile again, but this time it was aimed directly at you. You didn't stand a chance against an expression so full of radiant, beaming warmth as his. You could only hope that the smile blossoming on your face would come even the tiniest bit close to matching it. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and your mouth met his triumphantly. When you pulled apart to breathe, he rested his forehead against yours, his brilliant blue eyes met your watery ones, and with a tender smile he said the words that would keep you from ever being afraid of such things again.

“I love you, too.”


	4. Anchor In My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said 'By the end of the week', I didn't intend to really mean 'By tonight', but it's better to under-promise and over-deliver. And get really, super-fantastically lucky with inspiration. Enjoy.

Bucky was sure that he had never been on a mission that had gone so horribly wrong since the last time he got on a train. It was supposed to have been a simple job, even for how important it was. Hill got word that an allied research lab was going to be a target for an attack, and sent a team to protect it. Not surprisingly, things went relatively smoothly, at first. Between him and Steve leading the charge, and you working with the second team to keep the area secure, it was smooth sailing. At least until some form of hallucinogenic gas started spilling from the vents. You managed to contain the worst of it, while directing the evacuation effort, muddling through even as you fought off the effects yourself. The whole team deserved credit too, doing their part in spite of the attack.

The only person who couldn't fight through it had been him. It was just too much. The hallucinations triggered his worst flashback episode to date, and that only fueled the visions and sounds, twisting them into ever more violent strains. He remembered turning on Steve, in vague, hazy flashes. But when he woke up on the jet ride back to the Tower, restrained, and saw you getting patched up, he realized there was more than just a little missing. Your neck was bruised something awful, your right shoulder was bandaged, and when you finally turned around he could see that you were sporting a massive black eye. The fleeting moment of wariness when he caught your attention tipped him off to how it must have happened. Your good humor didn't ease the guilt.

A day later, after they arrived back in New York, after the debriefings and questioning, he was released. No one held him responsible, but he wished they would have. So instead, he went back to his apartment and holed himself up there.

For the next three days he remained there in solitude, mostly staying curled up in bed. Steve and the rest of the team stuck to sending text messages, at least one a day each, which he ignored after the first couple. He didn't want sympathy or kindness. You, however, had only sent one text, and that was on day one. _I love you. Don't forget that, alright?_ Short and to the point, like always. Also followed by three kiss emojis, the other staple of yours. Other than that one message, though, you'd kept your distance.

Until today.

Bucky was dangerously close to regretting the fact that he had given you a key to his apartment. It was late, sometime after nine in the evening, when he heard you enter his place. You seemed to know exactly where he was, since you stopped outside his door, though you didn't try to enter. Instead, you took to trying to get him to talk to you. Half an hour later, you were still at it.

“James, please. Say _something_. Tell me to piss off and leave if that's what you want me to do, but at least let me hear you so I know you're alright,” you said, voice muffled by the door standing between him and you. “Hell, even just promise me you'll eat something if I go, 'cause I'd bet you haven't eaten all day.”

He was sure that he would regret keeping silent in a few days, when the worst had passed, but stubbornly he held his ground anyway. It was what he wanted right now, to be left alone, even as he knew better. He heard you groan with frustration, but you said nothing else. After several minutes of silence, he assumed you must have given up and gone home. With a sad sigh, Bucky buried his face into his pillow and let himself fall asleep. He'd face you another day.

 

It was his stomach growling that woke Bucky up the next morning. He felt terrible, as if he'd been hit by a truck. Sleep didn't help, and he could still hear you telling him to eat something and take care of himself. Guilt ran through him at the thought; perhaps today he'd try and apologize for ignoring you after what had happened. Briefly, he considered taking a shower, but decided that it could wait until after breakfast. He got out of bed and made his way to the door. When he opened it, however, he was quite surprised to find you slumped against his wall, asleep, using a pillow from the couch to rest your head on. Softly, he called your name and you woke with a start.

“Wha, huh?” you mumbled unintelligibly, looking around wildly for a moment before noticing him. You blinked slowly a few times, squinting. “Buck? D'd I wake you up?”

“No. I wasn't expecting you to be here, though. Have you been there all night?” A silly question to ask, he decided after the words were out of his mouth. 

“Couldn' leave y'here alone.” A yawn stopped you for a moment. “Stole a pillow fr'm the couch. Thought 'bout sleepin' there, but I want'd to be close t' you.”

He felt something in his chest tighten painfully. Here you were, yellowing bruises on your neck and face, bandages peeking out from under your sleeve, disheveled and bleary-eyed from sleeping in the hallway, all for him. What had he done to deserve such devotion? Tears in his eyes, Bucky pulled you up and into a tight embrace.

“Wha's this for?” you asked, holding on to him, body relaxed. Knowing you, you were still on the verge of falling back asleep.

“I'm sorry. For yesterday. For Valley Hills. For...” He trailed off, trying to find the courage to finish the apology. 

Instead of letting him continue, you swatted him on the back of his right shoulder. “'M not mad. Wasn' mad earlier, jus' worried. Y'r not good t' you after flashbacks. Y' don' eat, don' talk, jus' avoid everyone. I wan' t' see you be alrigh'. Tha's all.” You seemed content to just let him hold you after that. Several moments later, you spoke again.“Hate t' kill th' mood, but 'm fallin' asleep 'gain. Gonna need some coffee if you wan' t' cuddle.”

He let you go and smiled at you. You were terrible with mornings, a zombie until your second cup of coffee. “I can do that. You alright with cereal? I've still got your favorite hanging around.”

“'S fine. Coffee first though. An' y'owe me a nap later.”

“Sounds fair.”


End file.
